


Utter Filth

by Cadence7



Series: Hail the King of Death [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bloodplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7150349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadence7/pseuds/Cadence7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of filthy stories written whenever I have the desire to do so.  Chapter titles based on scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Utter Filth

**Author's Note:**

> Eoin gets a minor wound. Zevran's helpful and tends to his boyfriend. Let me know of any glaringly obvious typos, yea?

Eoin grimaced when Zevran peeled away the linen trousers from his skin. It wasn't so much the severity of the wound as it was the location. On the inside of his thigh, a hand's length. Not particularly deep, so he hadn't needed immediate medical attention. And on top of the general sensitivity, the dried blood had formed a crust that tugged at his leg hair as Zevran stripped him of clothing.

  
“I told you to be more careful of your left side, amor.” Zevran chastised, bringing up a wet cloth to begin cleaning the wound.

  
“And miss out on having you take care of me? Not a chance.” For his snark, Zevran flicked the still weeping wound, causing Eoin to inhale sharply, thick muscles of his thigh reflexively tensing. “Rude.”

  
The assassin merely scoffed and went back to slowly washing away dried blood and sweat. Eoin's eyes closed as he relaxed under the gentle touch of his lover, his mind happily drifting away in the blissful quiet of the moment. And then there was a hot mouth on his skin, a warm tongue following the path of a drop of blood up his thigh.

  
His eyes sprung upon in surprise, the sensation by no means unpleasant. Zevran peered at him, a slight smirk on lips stained with crimson. Slowly, enchantingly, _sinfully_ , Zevran licked his lips free of blood. A moment of question, to be sure this wasn't taking their games too far. Eoin swallowed thickly and nodded his head, giving his consent to whatever Zevran wanted to do to him. Anything. Just as long as that mouth returned to his skin.

  
The elf kneeling before him took great care in reopening the wound, but he needn't have. The pain was nothing to Eoin, not with Zevran looking at him like that, not when every touch along the cut made Eoin's breath catch with anticipation.

  
It bled more freely now, the red a stark contrast to the paleness of Eoin's skin. Occasionally, Zevran's fingers would dip in and he would use the warm crimson as paint, drawing symbols without meaning and then tracing them with his tongue or backing away to let them dry, like a permanent reminder. Dimly, in that part of his mind that was still capable of complex thought, Eoin made a note to ask Zevran to tattoo him.

  
Russet stained fingers delved again into the weeping mark and this time the pain was enough to break through the haze of pleasure. Eoin's fingers wound tighter into blond hair and jerked sharply, but not pulling the assassin away. Never pulling him away. No, Eoin tugged the Antivan closer and the first of many tremulous moans tumbled from his lips when Zevran's mouth finally came into contact with the injury itself. Gentle suction and firm licks left him trembling and gasping, a pleasure entirely unlike anything he'd had before.

  
Yet this too, was upped. A raw whimper tore from his throat when Zevran's hand, wet with blood or spit Eoin couldn't tell, wrapped around his cock and pulled. In his mind's eye, it was blood, crimson red and impossibility erotic, that slicked the hand pleasuring him. It was all blood, even the darkness behind his eyelids was painted with the peculiar of both life and death.

  
And when he was pushed over the edge by a blood-stained mouth sealing over the swollen head of his cock, that too was red.


End file.
